


Stop Reminding Me

by addy



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addy/pseuds/addy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just want Dallon Weekes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Reminding Me

What is right and what is wrong? I wouldn’t know. I only go by what my heart and gut tells me, and I’m not sure if that’s the best approach to things, but I keep my head up high and if everything goes to shit, then it goes to shit. 

I just want Dallon Weekes.

I cant explain it. There’s something about him that captivates me. He even takes my bait whenever I would grind against him, or kiss him playfully on the lips because hey, the fans eat that crap up for breakfast. 

I’m being my bouncy self as usual when I see him offstage after a rocking performance that I think was one of our best, and I smile a little at him, my eyes reflecting coyly as I lick my lips momentarily hoping that he will notice, but his wedding ring keeps glaring back at me, mocking me, telling me that I shouldn’t try to pursue a married man. 

I understand that it’s wrong, dude. I get it. As much as I don’t believe in most of that moral shit, I do have some, but sometimes when emotions get in the way I kind of just yell FUCK IT and go for whatever I want because hey, you only have one life to live, right? 

I don’t think he was expecting someone to jump on his back, biting his ear a little. I was received warmly by a smack in the face. 

“Damnit.” I rub it slightly, falling off his back, still looking at him with the want that I’ve had since I met him. He wasn’t perfect, I mean, I’m not perfect in any way shape or form and even though my ego people say that I have tends to make it seem like I think that way, in reality, I’m not as much of a dick as people say that I am. But he is a hell of a lot more perfect than me, acting all innocent, but he can be an asshole too, and maybe that was why I was attracted to him so much. 

“You can’t just go and attack people like that, Brendon.” Dallon’s voice was low, with a little grunt, and I could tell that he was tired, because we just finished a show, and I know how he gets afterwards: which was a great time to try and ‘talk’ to him. 

“You love it,” I add, brash, bold, looking at him like I was admiring a celebrity crush or some crap like that and I decided to reel myself in, and at the right time too. Spencer came around the corner with that know it all smirk on his face, and I just wanted to punch him in the fucking face because he deserves it. After he left with a swish of those goddamn hips I brought my attention back to my target.”Good show tonight.” I was creating small talk, as I was becoming more and more of a scared chicken (chickens can be scared shut up), pacing back and forth just staring at his eyes that shot through mine like lasers. 

“Did you want something?” He was eyeing me weirdly, biting his lip a little, just like he does when he’s thinking, not that I know that. Why would I know that? Long bus rides…I shook my head, attempting to find an answer, but instead, being the socially inept person that I was, I went over and grabbed his crotch. 

I know what you’re thinking: Brendon, why the hell do you solve your moments of awkwardness by grabbing dudes in the crotch? I’ll tell you: it’s an impulse, and it worse on stage, because it brings out the real emotion that I feed on and it’s kind of sick in a way, man. 

Dallon doesn’t say anything to me as he lets my hand touch his crotch, but his lips are pursed in a manner that looks like he’s either pissed or turned on, or probably both. “What are you doing,” his voice emerges again, but this time a bit more shaky and this makes me smirk, which in turn makes his face blush and I feel as if I have won. 

“Inspection.” He scoffs at me being a dork, and I laugh a little still feeling the warmth that’s transmitting between both of our body parts: he was gorgeous, I told you that right? Shit, I sound like a teenage girl. Dallon’s lips continue to purse as I physically bring him to the dressing room that was the closest, thanking god, or whoever is running this hellhole, that it was mine. I brought him in as he looked at me like I had gone mad, even though I received this look often, at this particular moment it spoke volumes because I was still holding onto his crotch. I decided to be nice and remove my hand as I continued to look into his eyes, even though it was hard considering the fact that he was a giant. 

“Is this a mandatory inspection?” He replied snarky, with that look I hated but at the same time I wanted to wipe it off his face somehow. 

“Yeah.” Short answers. Good. Usually I talk up a storm but today, hey, I’ll break my own rules and actually observe instead of speak too much because apparently I can get annoying? 

You know, I didn’t expect his hand to touch the side of my face, making my spine tingle because he was married. It was all about the wife. He had one, and here I was, making a move on someone who was taken and who I could never have and right then and there I was shut up by lips against mine that I couldn’t explain until my mind registered that Dallon was kissing me. 

Holy shit. 

I accept it with vigor and a passion that I wish I could display on stage but I remember (most of the time) that there are kids in the audience and I refrain from any sorts of monstrous fuckings but hell, Dallon was kissing me and his tongue tasted like some sort of spearmint gum that riled my taste buds and it was too good for me to care about anything. I grab his waist as I stand on my tip toes just so I could reach his lips because he’s a fucking giraffe. 

“Damn…” I comment, our lips connected in a frenzy now with his hand under my shirt. He began stroking my chest and it felt so good I never wanted this to stop. I moan prematurely which was embarrassing, but Dallon just smirked in that way that made me want to kill him but I was kissing him, I was fucking kissing him and everything that I had thought previously was thrown out the window because I don’t think I’ve stated enough: I was kissing Dallon Weekes. 

When he began to moan as our bodies collided, creating friction between our jeans near our crotches, and I was pretty sure that he was hard, just as much as I was, but I couldn’t continue as much as I wanted to. I got what I wanted, the chance to fuck Dallon’s mouth with my own and to know what it felt like before I would have to give him up to his wife, who he was married to: I could feel the wedding ring while Dallon ran his fingers through my hair. 

“Mm,” Dallon let out, “Huh, I didn’t think you would be into it.” He’s such a douchebag. 

“Shut up.” 

“We can do this more often, if you want.” He is killing me, god or whoever take me now because he needs to stop. 

“Dallon…” 

“What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.”

Of course he would use a cliche statement because he was ancient, but at the same time I would look into those young eyes and remember that he was a human that I wasn’t in love with, maybe. I was infatuated with him, and I had my own love life to worry about, so I replied with a soft kiss on his lips and I grab his crotch for old times sake. 

“I’ll do it everyday if you want to.” I admit, I wouldn’t mind at all.

I could go for a smoke right now. 

Dallon Weekes. 

I kiss him again, his lips red from our physical contact and it was my turn to smirk because he looked disheveled but at the same time pleased with himself, which made my smirk fade into wanting to hit him but I refrained. 

“It’s a date.” 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call…hell I don’t know what it’s called. But I had Dallon in my grasp somehow.


End file.
